


Careful How You Proceed

by dreamlittleyo



Series: I'm Not Sorry (Kinky Dice Oneshots) [12]
Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Rape, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-29
Updated: 2019-08-29
Packaged: 2020-10-02 00:20:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20445695
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dreamlittleyo/pseuds/dreamlittleyo
Summary: Alexander Hamilton inherits a kingdom and wins a war. His victory brings him face-to-face with the enemy’s defeated general: George Washington, a man who ignites fierce and unexpected desire in Alexander.





	Careful How You Proceed

Alexander Hamilton did not start this war. He inherited it from a wretch of a father who had the gall to abandon throne—and title and family—only to die in utter obscurity.

His mother carried the weight for a time, trying to protect Alexander—trying to keep him _safe_ because he was too young to shoulder such a burden—but she could not sustain the necessary magic. When she sickened and died, most of the kingdom was certain civil war would tear them apart before the mage-generals of the enemy could finish the job.

But Alexander was strong even then. Angry, and powerful, and more than a match for the magic of his kingdom. At twelve he killed every would-be usurper to his throne. At fourteen he turned his focus outward, considering the defensive war his people had been fighting since before he was born. He ordered more troops recruited, more weapons forged, more dragons bred to fight. He harnessed the power of his kingdom and commanded his generals forward, imbuing them with his own strength and sending them into battle.

Sending them to conquer the enemy, or die trying.

Alexander was nineteen when victory came. He led the final attack himself, drawing on the souls of his citizens to rain a hailstorm down from the skies. Shards of ice impaled enemy foot soldiers by the thousands. He sat astride a compact silver dragon—a breed barely larger than a horse—sleek and clever and the closest Alexander had ever known to a true friend.

His dragon did not have a name. She did not need one. There were no others like her. And it was only right she be with him at the assault that finally pummeled the enemy into submission.

He left his highest ranking generals to clean up the mess, and then Alexander returned to his castle.

It took the kingdom’s agents only a week to find and capture the enemy's commander in chief. The general was too competent to surrender, even when false hope was all that remained. He was discovered in hiding, under the protection of a previously neutral neighbor kingdom—a transgression Alexander would pursue at a later time—and Alexander immediately made certain those who captured him were generously rewarded.

This was no ordinary service to their king, after all. This was a prelude to long overdue justice.

Except when Alexander Hamilton got his first true look at His Excellency George Washington, all thoughts of justice were driven from his mind. Replaced by a feeling so powerful that he did not even consider resisting it.

He wanted this man.

Alexander stroked an affectionate hand along his dragon's silvery snout and rose from his throne. He descended the dozen steps to the perfectly smooth marble floor. Washington knelt there, forced to his knees by the guards, yet he held his head defiantly high. Muscular arms were bound behind him by chains that glowed with icy blue power—Alexander's magic—a necessary precaution since Washington had ample magic of his own. Washington's cheek bore a single long scar that did nothing to diminish the beauty of his face.

The general's jaw clenched at Alexander's approach. He did not flinch at the finger Alexander traced along the pale scar, but his eyes were alight with fire—a literal glow of magic unwillingly contained.

With difficulty, Alexander dropped his arm to his side. His voice held steady when he looked out across his court and commanded, "Get out. All of you."

It was a testament to their intelligence that every guard, noble, soldier and courtier obeyed without hesitation. No one tried to protest on behalf of their sovereign’s safety. They all knew perfectly well what he was capable of.

When the massive throne room doors shut, sealing everyone out, Alexander glanced up the stairs to where his dragon still sat beside the throne. There was a comprehending glint in those silvery eyes. A hint of chiding, perhaps a grudging fragment of amusement. Dragons did not feel in precisely the same way as humans, but they did _feel_. Alexander and his silver companion understood each other well.

"You too, my dear," he admonished her, more gently than he would any of his human subjects. "I want to be alone with His Excellency." He spoke the title with mocking disdain, grinning when his dragon shook herself—a full-bodied huff of disapproval—and slithered up the wall to slip through the window, into the night.

Then Alexander peered down at his captive once more. He did not try to mask his appreciation.

"I'm sure you know exactly how troublesome you've been to me," he murmured. He desperately wanted to touch, but for the moment he kept his hands to himself. Heaven help him, this man was beautiful. Stern and strong and utterly unbroken. There was caution in those clever eyes, but no hint of fear.

"I have an inkling." Washington’s retort was smooth and wry and gloriously disrespectful.

"It did not need to come to this," Alexander observed. "My people have no desire for war. We would have left you alone if you’d simply allowed us peace. And now you've lost everything. Even your king."

Washington's eyes widened. "My king is dead?"

"Yes." There was something grimly satisfying in saying so—almost as satisfying as watching a monarch bleed. "I killed him while you were skulking about the countryside."

The flash of apprehension in Washington's eyes still did not quite reach the heights of fear, but Alexander did not require fear from this man. He regarded Washington with hungry curiosity. Possessiveness was not an unfamiliar sensation, yet he'd never felt it like _this_. Potent and fierce, centered squarely on the bound and gorgeous man before him.

Something hot and eager stirred in Alexander's belly, and for all that he’d never allowed anyone to touch him before, he was not oblivious enough to doubt what this was. He had known precisely what he intended when he ordered all witnesses from the room.

There was renewed defiance in Washington's low, smooth voice when he demanded, "Why haven't you killed me, then? Why am I here?"

"Because killing you would be wasteful." Alexander saw no reason to obscure such an obvious truth. "And as to why you're here… I suppose I needed to see you with my own eyes. Off the battlefield. I could order you thrown in the dungeons—I still might—but for now…"

He paused and reached forward again, this time curling his hand beneath Washington's jaw. A mockery of a caress.

"For now," Alexander repeated, "I desire something more."

Washington's eyes widened, incredulity flashing in them, mouth falling open. He looked very much like he wanted to speak, but no words came. Alexander smiled, showing his teeth, and brushed his thumb across the scar on Washington's cheek.

"Will you indulge me, Your Excellency?" He dropped his voice to a sultry purr. "A service rendered to your new king?"

"You are not my king." But now, for the first time, Washington’s voice wavered. He sounded far from certain, and for that reason Alexander remained gentle. Soft. A guiding hand would do far more good in this moment than more brutal punishment.

"Perhaps I could be," he murmured, still stroking Washington's cheek. "Perhaps you could find your way to being more than a casualty of this pointless war."

Wariness tightened Washington's shoulders and shadowed his expression. "I won't betray my people."

"I'm not asking you to betray anyone."

"Then what—" The words cut off when Alexander pressed his thumb to Washington's lips. Silencing him with only the suggestion of pressure. Tracing the generous line of his lower lip when Washington fell quiet.

Oh, yes. There was _potential_ here. Alexander's heart sang with it, his soul clamored for it. His body ached for the man kneeling before him, and all of this was his for the taking. If he was careful. If he handled the fallen general right, a delicate balance of ferocity and kindness. He waited for the silence to spread and grow into something uncomfortable, before finally giving his answer.

"Only you." He caressed Washington's lower lip again. "I'm only asking for you."

Washington's eyes narrowed. "You want me to… service… you."

"I knew you must be clever."

Washington swallowed thickly. "What do you want me to do?"

Alexander's smile widened, predatory and sharp. "You have a lovely mouth. I'd like to know how it feels."

Washington's face flushed red with embarrassment—there was no mistaking the blush for arousal—but that was all right. Alexander could bring him around with time. For now he was concerned only with his immediate desire to claim his fallen general, and slake the lust coiling tighter inside him with every passing moment.

His royal garments were maddeningly intricate, so Alexander had to withdraw his hand in order to fuss with straps and fastenings. Several frustrating seconds elapsed before he felt the cool brush of air over his naked cock. At last he took himself in hand, curled his fingers, and stroked once.

Even now he wondered if this would be a fight. Washington had not agreed to this, and had shown no sign of obedience so far.

But when Alexander stepped forward and guided the tip of his cock to Washington's mouth, Washington opened for him, parting his lips around the blunt head. Alexander groaned at the sensation, hot and wet around him. The deliberate slide of tongue as he gave a first hesitant forward thrust. The tightness of suction as Washington hollowed his cheeks and took him deeper.

Oh, _god_, this was even better than he had imagined. Alexander set one hand on Washington's shoulder for balance, curled the other at the base of Washington's skull. He withdrew, a slick slide past trembling lips. Then rutted forward again. Needy. Enjoying the rush of power and pleasure, twin perceptions coiling together in his blood.

He found a rhythm, hurried and impatient. When he thrust too deep and made Washington choke, the sensation curled Alexander's toes. He did it again, deliberately this time, moaning at the pressure as Alexander's cock slid deeper. There was resistance now. Washington tried to retreat, but Alexander held him tighter. He forced his cock relentlessly down the general's throat, crying out at the impossible tightness clenching around him.

Washington's mouth was heaven, but his throat was even better. Alexander continued to chase his pleasure, delighting at the wet, guttural sounds of protest. He fucked forward with giddy abandon, speeding his pace, closer and closer to the satisfaction he craved.

It seemed no time at all before his orgasm overtook him. Alexander dragged Washington all the way forward and spent with a muffled sob. He was shaking, overwhelmed with pleasure as Washington gagged and swallowed around him—as Washington jerked in his hands but failed to get away, helpless against the onslaught.

When at last Alexander withdrew, he saw moisture glistening on Washington's cheeks. No telling if the tears were from emotion or physical exertion. Alexander put his cock away and fixed his clothes, but once his hands were unoccupied he framed Washington's face between them.

He wiped the wetness away with his thumbs.

"There now." He purred the words like a caress. "That was perfect. _You_ were perfect."

Washington stared up at him, motionless as stone, and did not answer.


End file.
